elastic heart. [tag; marek]

and I wanted it, I wanted it bad but there were so many red flags
now another one bites the dust, let's be clear, I'll trust no one.

If she was going to break the rules, she wasn't going to do it on home turf.

A tall girl cut an imposing figure as her long legs strode through the small town, the fine cut of her black robes billowing behind her luxuriously. It was snowing. Small perfectly formed flakes landed in her raven hair beneath her wide brimmed hat and contrasted wildly. The dark colour stood out against her alabaster skin as she adjusted her thickly woollen scarf, pulling it up to her nose to ward off the chill.

The school was suffocating her. Iskra didn't like being told "no". She was a party in a shot glass and everything was annoying her, closing in on her, squeezing her uncomfortably. It was making her grumpy. So many rules! It was all those new kids' fault, she imagined. They blew in from some foreign land, bringing restrictions and mandatory dance lessons with them.

The high heels of her boots echoed on the well worn cobbles, the snow falling thicker and swirling around her as if she was the one controlling it. Her pale blue eyes looked up at the tall clock tower, the sound of it striking the hour echoed around the small town. The gong meant that she was late.

Durmstrang was safe but it was too safe. Iskra did admire the new Headmistress, even if she was inadvertently ruining all of her fun. The school was abuzz with talk of this festival and the student population was split down the middle. Some liked a party, others hated change. Iskra had never been one for celebrations. Dancing made her uncomfortable. When forced, she sat in the corner, wearing a scowl and making rude observations on people's "style". Besides, she couldn't attend. Her mother had only sent her one party frock; it was pink. She wouldn't be caught dead in it.

Iskra wanted a rebellion and she wanted it now.

On she walked. She paid little attention to the people around her; a smattering of students, older people all wrapped up against the chill. The cold never bothered her. It was bitter today. Perhaps that was why it was so quiet? The clouds were a heavy grey, snow laden clouds. The lake at the school was steadily freezing in this weather and the stiff wind could cut a person in half.

This place was the farthest away that she could physically get. The threat of being caught red-handed was too great. There was a revolt simmering beneath the surface and she could feel it. A coup. An uprising. The staff must know that. They must know that the school didn't house pushovers. There was only so much one could do before they fought back. It wasn't her fault. Needs must and all that.

Iskra walked faster, her bag bumping against her hip and heavy with a number of illicit books that her father had managed to send her. She'd taken precautions. She locked her trunk, she hid her things, she wasn't dumb enough to keep a journal. Her secrets were her own.

She was due to meet Marek at the clock tower. He was knee-deep in this now, there wasn't any backing down. She wouldn't let him escape. It was too late. He was her partner in crime, willing or not. Stamping her feet against the stone floor, she blew into her gloved hands, her expertly outlined eyes flicking left and right until she saw his approaching figure. Her deeply purple lips spread into a smile. "Sorry I'm late," she said swiftly as she closed the gap towards him to stand close. "Someone needed dealing with," Iskra said. She didn't elaborate. "Shall we?" She said, gesturing for him to lead on to one of the creaky, dim pubs that she liked so much.

As his boots crunched across the frozen grounds, Marek was glad that the school was becoming a smaller an smaller silhouette behind him. The weight of what was happening to his school fell heavily on his shoulders and though he was not turning his back on what he thought was right, he still didn't mind the brief reprieve. The distraction that Iskra offered him was too good to pass up. Even if things with Iskra were always a unknown and potentially dangerous wrapped in a dark little package.

As he tucked his chin to his chest because of the wind, he smiled to himself at just the thought of her, a whirlwind in her own right. She was someone who you didn't want to be on their bad side. But as he neared the clock tower, he saw her slim figure huddled against the weather and he continued his stroll, but did raise a hand in greeting.

Marek gave her a lingering look, the question clear in his eyes, but he didn't give voice to it. He didn't know Iskra all that well, he wasn't sure anyone ever could clearly define the mystery she was, but he did know when not to ask questions. Sometimes with Iskra, it was just better not to know. So he shrugged a shoulder, shook his head and turned, nodding with his head toward the pub on the left. "Come on," he said, soon pushing open the door with creaking hinges. It was dark and a little dank and beady, wary eyes were on them for the first few seconds before sliding away. Marek walked with his back straight and shoulders back, not caring about whether they belonged there or not, choosing a booth near the back corner.

He slid into one slide of the booth, eyeing Iskra's bag with curiosity as she joined him. Marek folded his hands onto the table and then prompted her, "So show me what you've brought."

Iskra tilted her head curiously as he approached. She took the time to admire the way the delicate snowflakes landed on his long, dark eyelashes as she offered a smile slowly.

He seemed nervous and she wondered why. Was it her? Or what they were doing? Iskra rocked back on her heels, letting Marek push the door open and she followed swiftly. Much like a Dementor, she tended to feed off fear. Some people got their kick by jumping off cliffs or taking illegal substances but Iskra liked control. She craved it. People had a fear of the unknown, of the unusual and she was both. It was her life blood.

The petite girl sat down and didn't bother to remove her coat. She never did. She didn't like getting comfortable, it was silly. She gave a gentle laugh, a sweet sound escaping such a harsh looking girl. "Goodness Marek," she said, her dark eyes wide in surprise. "Cut to the chase, why don't you?"

Scoffing, she opened her bag and pulled out a book. A large, heavy and innocuous looking tome. Plain black with well worn pages and a cracked spine, the perfect double for a Durmstrang textbook.

"Just stuff," she said casually with a shrug as she opened the book, her pale fingers stroking the printed words affectionately. She found comfort in books. Books never let her down or disappointed her. They never broke promises or made her feel uncomfortable. Iskra liked learning. She was actually a very good student. She was just let down by her tendency to participate in…extra curricular activities.

"You wanted to learn," she said, matter-of-factly. "Just how much do you want to learn?" Iskra asked, her dark eyes glittering like a cat's as they flicked back and forth across his face. She could trust him not to tattle-tale. He seemed too scared to. The discomfort was radiating off him in waves, so much so that she could actually feel it warming the air around them.

Iskra's magic was of the ancient kind. She was banking on it being so old that people had either forgotten about it or it had become uninteresting. Her speciality wasn't "dark", it was more forbidden. The Headmistress had flipped her shit, banning anything that didn't fit into her plan. This wasn't Hogwarts. This wasn't airy-fairy, everyone-be-happy-and-together. Durmstrang was tough and cold and forcing unhappy teenagers to work together was just a storm in a tea cup.

"We don't want a paper trail," she said sharply. "How's your memory?" She asked, flicking her eyes up to Marek's face. They were effectively magicians; going over and over the same spells time and time again until they stuck. Perfection was the aim. Iskra had a natural affinity with fire. She wasn't scared of it, she respected it. She could use and abuse it.

Did Marek have the air of an anarchist about him? She fell silent for a moment. "No," she announced to no one in particular. Then again, she didn't know him. She didn't know how he'd react under pressure. Would be crumble? Or lash out in a spectacular fashion?

Next, out came a small, intricately decorated vial. The liquid inside was a deep, shimmering purple. She held it out for Marek to take. "In case of emergencies," Iskra said. "Technically, it's contraband," she said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. The potion was a strange one. It made the drinker's stamina increase, much like a beefed up protein bar. If they needed to run, they could run a marathon. Possibly two. Iskra used it when she had homework she needed to complete in a short space of time. It heightened senses, made the brain work faster to make decisions quicker and prevent the mind turning into a pumpkin. Muscles didn't scream in protest when exerted. "Not that I plan on running," she said as she blew at a lock of her raven hair. "But a girl needs an escape plan."

He shrugged and let an indulgent sort of smile curl up his lips. "I figured we were past the niceties," he replied, amusement glinting in his eyes even despite the dark. Yet his impatience began to ebb as he saw her pulling open her bag and taking out a large tome. His eyes lit, curious and hungry, all at the same time.

The thing about Iskra was that you couldn't really pin her down. She was mystery wrapped in smoke. One second there, the next gone, slipping through your fingers. He had known of her since they had both started at Durmstrang five years ago and sometimes he felt like he still didn't know anything about her. He wondered if it was intentional on her part or if the mystery was just something that was innate to her character, alive in her veins. She was so vague and yet held the promise of so many particulars. He almost wanted to smile at her mystery.

"Everything," he told her, his eyes darkening. "I want to learn everything." He wasn't the kind of person to back down, especially from this stuff. He wondered if she knew how much he already knew about this sort of magic, how much he had actually practiced already. He wasn't going to shy away from this and he told her so.

No paper trail? He nodded. He was fine with that. "Excellent," he told her with confidence. But then again Marek was still suspicious of this.. deal. "What do you want in return?" he asked her outright, unafraid of mincing words. She could play the mysterious role in this situation, he would let her have it. His intents were clear.

A vial in between her fingers sparkled with a deep purple and he tracked it with his eyes as she handed it to him. He took it, holding it between his graceful, long fingers while arching a brow, silently asking her to explain. Marek listened carefully while she explained, his eyes on the vial between his fingers. A smirk curled his lips. "Interesting. Handy," he admitted. One part of his mind couldn't help but think of another utility for this kind of potion, but he was almost sure that wasn't what she had in mind. "And why do you think I would need this?" he asked.

Iskra nodded. Marek wasn't wrong. They weren't friends but they weren't enemies; they fell and settled into some sort of no man's land that straddled between the two. Iskra didn't have friends. She was more than content with her own company. She found the teenage inhabitants of the school to be draining. Their incessant chatter just dragged her down and down and down again.

The raven haired girl arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at his quick response. Everything he'd said. "Marvellous," she said crispy as she turned the page absent-mindedly. This project called for a lot of trust but Iskra wasn't exactly held in the highest standards but that was Marek's decision to make. He might fall on his own sword but that was always part of the fun.

Iskra was going to treat Marek like an absolute beginner. She didn't know much about him, other than he seemed rather taken with that odd girl. What was her name? Justa? Justinian? Just Boring? Something like that. His personal life was no bother to her. What she needed was a blind follower. She wanted trust and devotion and she wasn't sure that she'd placed her own in the wrong person. That was just something that she'd find out in time, one way or another.

Iskra grinned.

"Ah," she said softly as she shrugged, examining her deeply plum lipstick in the glass on the table as she gave a coy shrug. She nodded, her dark eyes looking out at the dark, shadowy figures in the bar as she let her mind wander. She wasn't after money. She had enough. She didn't want status or popularity or acceptance. The students had painted her as a dark, strange entity and she was happy to play the role.

A few seconds later, her bright cat-like eyes shifted to Marek and she smiled again. "A little bit of Hell," she finally replied, her unusual features bright, like someone had switched on an internal light. She wanted blood. She wanted a war. She wanted to sit back and watch the unworthy rip each other apart like the wild animals that they were. Tensions were high, almost at breaking point. Things were barely keeping themselves together. A well timed prod and everything would explode.

"If things are going to go off, it's going to be tough. I don't know how physically fit you are," she said briskly, giving him a swift once-over. "You might need to recall something and if you're tired, your usefulness if going to be impaired and that could put both of us in danger." Iskra paused. "It is useful," she said matter-of-factly. "In case of emergencies only," she repeated. "Don't down it and then try and mount the female population of the school," she said quickly. Marek was a teenage boy. She wasn't stupid.

"I don't know how fast your brain works. You need to be two, three, four steps ahead," the brunette said as she smoothed a lock of jet black hair through her fingers in an oddly girlish manner. "These spells need to be remembered and untraceable. Consider it a back up plan if things need…hurrying along a little," she said with another smile.

"Obviously we can't study on school grounds," Iskra said as she closed the book, the leather covers making a satisfyingly heavy sound against the rickety old table. "Unless we can find somewhere quite quiet," she mused.

She reached across the table. "Give me your hands," she told Marek, holding out her palms for him to place the backs of his own against them. People did scoff at palmistry and tarot readings but Iskra didn't. She had a thing about ancient magic and Fate and things people didn't understand. She was a good judge of character. It often startled and unnerved people. "Just want to check your lifeline," she told Marek quickly before shrugging once more. "Best to know before anything happens."

He gazed back at her evenly even as she raised a brow at him. Marek's gaze was steady, determined, clear. He wasn't joking in any sense of the word and he wanted to make sure she knew that. He wasn't sure if her 'marvelous' was sincere or not, especially because she was still flipping pages in the large tome. A tome he wanted to get his hands on, his fingers were nearly itching with the urge. Marek sat up a little straighter, trying to peer over the table subtly, though nothing in the book made anymore sense to him than it did before. Reading upside down and backwards clearly didn't help the situation.

Her grin in response to his question didn't make him feel any more settled about the situation. He folded his hands in front of him on the table, whether it was to stop himself from reaching out to take that book or stop himself from tapping his fingers on the tabletop for keeping him waiting he wasn't sure. A shadow of a smile came across his face as he wondered what she would ask for. While he really didn't know her that well, he got the impression that she was a girl who got what she wanted, if by nothing else through sheer will.

Iskra's answer surprised him and at the same time, it didn't. He had to smile at her reply, mostly because he had no idea what she meant, but at the same time, it was exactly something he would expect her to say. Marek slowly sat back against his chair and nodded a few times, as if silently beckoning her to go on. However, she didn't seem like she wanted to indulge him immediately. He raised his own brow and ventured to ask. "Care to explain?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

Her eyes on the vial in his hand brought his attention back to it and he nodded once as she explained the why of it. It made sense. But as she warned him from doing exactly what that little piece of his mind had thought about, he brought his hand up to cover his smile. He hadn't expected her to be able to read his thoughts right off his face, but maybe it was a predictable sort of thing for a boy his age.

"I got it," he told her calmly. He understood the importance, the secrecy, the demand of what this might require of him. He was ready for it. More than ready. Eager, curious, hungry. He wasn't about to let something like exhaustion or mental fatigue stop him. "We could meet here," he offered quietly. Not like this particular establishment was often frequented by students. It was why he had chosen it in the first place. "Or there are a few rooms off the beaten path at school I know of. We could try one of those," he added. Having to go to Belushya Guba every time he wanted to meet with her would be inconvenient even if it was safer. The risk of finding a room at Durmstrang did have its appeal.

He tracked her pale hand with his eyes as she extended it across the table and he gave only the slightest of hesitation when she asked for his hand. A smile curved up his lips as he gave up his hand and placed it into her cool one. He grinned even wider at her quip and he answered with his own quick, "go on then." He gaze was locked on her rather than at their hands in the center of the table and like everything else with Iskra, he couldn't wait to see what she had to say.

"Oh you know," Iskra replied, flipping a hand through the air nonchalantly. "War, famine, pestilence," she added with a serene smile. She shrugged her slender shoulders, her dark eyes drifting away from Marek's as she surveyed the tavern. "Not really sure what I want," she added, honestly. "Disruption?" She made it seem like a question he might be able to answer. "Unease? The school's so rooted in "tradition"," she rolled her eyes and hooked her fingers in the air. "It needs a shake up."

What Iskra wanted wasn't exactly materialistic. She didn't want money or fame or anything like this. She didn't even really want to be noticed. Iskra was more of a puppeteer; hiding in the dark and pulling strings. The trick was to make people think this was their idea so it couldn't be traced back to her.

"Just a little fun," she finally settled on with a tilted head. A little bit of chaos. Just something small, just enough to give her a thrill.

"Hm," she added, the petite girl wrinkling her nose in distaste as she looked around the dishevelled place. It seemed safe enough but the Headmistress was becoming paranoid. She was lashing out, imposing sanctions like a failing dictator. Iskra wouldn't be surprised if there were some sort of spies. "We might have to do that," she told Marek.

Meeting during school hours would be tricky but meeting after lights out would be worst but it seemed like it needed to be done anyway. There was something mystical about meeting at midnight. Some people called it "the witching hour". Iskra was only too happy to correct them, the so called witching hour was actually at three o'clock in the morning. Traditionally, that was when the witches' power was said to be at their strongest. "How are your sleeping patterns?" She asked Marek, turning to face him sharply.

"Don't be shy," she purred as she leaned across the table to take his hand. She rested it gently, the back of his hand resting against the palm of her own. For such a pale, cold girl, her hands were surprisingly warm. "Life line, life line," she muttered to herself. She reached out and dragged her fingertip along the line in his skin that curved around his thumb, from below his index finger to the heel of his hand.

Iskra took a moment, quietly to herself. "Okay," she said, before carrying on. "Clear head," she told him, illustrating the long length of the line if he wanted to watch. "Dependable," she said, arching an eyebrow as she flicked her eyes up to meet his, hoping that was true. "Lots of people trust you. Do you have many friends?" The brunette asked. She didn't know how popular Marek was. It didn't really matter but if he had sway, he'd be able to influence.

"Heart line," she pressed on swiftly, her index finger tracing the line than ran from beneath his second finger, slashing across his palm  to his little finger in a low, sweeping motion. "Double cross," she told him. She tapped Marek's skin on the outer palm where there were two, faint crosses in his skin. "Betrayal," she said. "Deep." She watched his face for signs of recognition. "Did someone tattle-tale when you were younger?" Iskra asked softly. The lines were faint so the feelings of hurt and upset weren't recent, at least a year or two old. The image of that girl swam in front of her face, blonde, moody. Justa? Justinian?

"Head line," she ploughed on, as though she hadn't just made an assumption on his personal life. Her finger moved again, across a line that was bent downwards, just above his life line. She sighed softly. "Not ideal," she said with a shake of her head, raven locks moving as she did so. It was a short line, ending in the middle of his palm. He was a quick thinker but he was stubborn. He made his mind up and it was hard to change him. Passionate and driven. She watched him for a moment; he'd be difficult to break.

"Not bad," she finally told Marek, sliding her fingers over his palms in slow, soft, intricate patterns. She couldn't tell if he believed her or not and it didn't matter if he didn't. If she could just get inside his head, even slightly, her suggestions would come true. That was what tended to happen. Iskra had seen the ripple her well placed Tarot cards had had through the student population. People thought she was odd and they were scared and fear was so much better than respect.

"Did I get it right?" She asked with a slow grin, still holding on to his hand. Her grip was firm but not painful and if he wanted to leave, he'd have to yank his hand back and away from her.

"You want drama?" he asked, a dark brow raising as he looked at her. "Entertainment?" His voice was colored with disbelief. This was what she was asking of him? He didn't really quite know what to make of it, just like he wasn't quite sure what to make of her. "What exactly do you want me to do then?" he asked, eyes narrowed. Surely, this was a joke. She had to be joking. He couldn't quite believe that what she wanted in exchange for her book and some secret knowledge that she wanted him to.. get in a fight with someone? Surely, she must be joking.

The Krov nodded as she agreed to meeting at the school. It would be more convenient so they didn't have to come into town every time he wanted to discuss things with her. But it would also be a little more risky. There was more of a chance of a venturing student to stumble across one of the rarely used rooms that he was thinking of. More of a risk of a professor finding them out after curfew. He would be lying if he said the risk didn't excite him a little. He shrugged at her question. "They're whatever they need to be," he said, gazing back at her. He wasn't going to give her a reason to not agree.

"I'm not," he told her shortly, even as she was already bent over his hand. Her fingers were warm in his hand, drawing tickling circles and tracing lines on his palm and made the hairs on his neck stand and stretch. His eyes traced the shape of her as he waited to hear what she would read. He wasn't really one to believe in that sort of magic, but because all magic interested him, he wasn't going to shy away from at least trying it. Even in the dim interior lighting, her skin was still so pale that even the shadows couldn't touch its porcelain perfection. Marek wondered if the sun ever touched her features or if she really was a nocturnal creature.

His wayward thoughts were wrangled back to focus when she came to a conclusion on his life line. He watched her finger trace a line across his palm and listened as she spoke. He smiled a bit as she glanced up at him and then took his time to answer. "Yes," he said simply, gazing at her. He wanted to see what else she would say without giving much other indication if she was on the right path or not. Marek wanted to see if she was bullshiting him or not. So far though, she was surprisingly accurate.

Betrayal. Deep. The smallest frown graced his features as he narrowed his eyes. Her words hit home, but he was more inclined to believe that she had heard the truth and the secrets of his past from other sources rather than divining them from lines on his palm. "My heart line told you all that?" he said trading questions with her instead of answering.

"That's it? 'Not bad, not ideal'?" he asked. He met her gaze, wondering if there was more there than she was saying. It was a heady moment for a second. Eyes locked, hands locked, blood rushing under skin. She was a challenge, a mystery, and all the more real when he was holding her hand. "Maybe more or less. Not so confident in your work?" he asked with a smile. "The real question is," Marek suggested. "when do we start?" 

Iskra blinked.

What did he think she wanted? Actual, real life social change? She didn't mind the Koldo students; they didn't bother her and she didn't bother them. She had no strong feelings on them and their arrival but everyone could just feel the tension. It was escalating and she wasn't even sure why. Changes arriving too quickly, the Headmistress going off her trolley, who knew.

"Why are you here?" The tall brunette countered quickly. "If you're looking for something or someone to salve your emotional wounds then honey, you've got the wrong girl." She watched him for a moment. It felt like a chess match. Marek clearly wasn't getting what he wanted, either from her or himself. Iskra had made no promises. He said he wanted to learn and she agreed to teach. She hadn't once said that she required payment and when she expressed her wishes, he seemed almost…angry.

Iskra rolled her big dark eyes. If Marek wanted to act like a spoiled child then fine but she was not going to indulge him. The door was there if he wanted to go and she wouldn't stop him. Not that he would. She was dark and unusual and all boys liked a challenge.

As he insisted he wasn't shy, she smiled. Then her smile grew even wider when she was proved right. "Of course," she said genially. "You're Mr. Popular," she mused. There wasn't any hint of malice or derision in her tone, it was just light and matter-of-fact. The Drakonya Krovs were an odd bunch. They all hung out and collectively tried to pretend that they were happy. She hadn't really met one that had impressed her but the jury was still out on Marek at the moment.

"Sort of," she said casually. "The walls have ears," Iskra said as she tilted her head, leaning forward so the ends of her short glossy raven hair just brushed his forearm as she squinted at the line in question. "Girls like to talk. They like to talk a lot," she said with another eye roll. "Passing comments, really, but I'm usually busy doing other things," she added serenely. She shrugged her slender shoulders. "You have all the textbook markings," she told him. "It's unusual," she frowned thoughtfully.

Meeting his gaze, she arched a slim eyebrow. Time seemed to stand still. All of the people in the bar seemed to fade away and Marek was in focus, high definition, all cheekbones and teenage bolster. It was a long moment, heavy with things unsaid. He was curious and that was good. If she could unnerve him, just a fraction, he'd come back. That was how these sorts of shady deals seemed to work. Maybe Marek didn't get the satisfaction he craved from the other girls he familiarised himself with.

"Well no one's perfect," Iskra stated casually as she tried to mentally break the boy sitting across from her down.

She managed a smile, real and wide that dimpled her left pale cheek. "I have complete faith in my abilities," she was quick to inform him. She still held his hand, loosely, but she made no move to drop it. "Keep that in mind." It wasn't a warning, despite sounding rather like it. Iskra couldn't see into the future but that was all "seers" were. It was a game of smoke and mirrors. If she planted a seed in someone's head, they became convinced and they altered their daily lives to make sure the predictions happened.

"Right now?" She asked, her eyes wide. They could stay here or go somewhere else. There were a few wandless spells that he might be able to master before returning to school. "Grab your stuff." With that, Iskra stood up, tucked her book beneath her arm and left the bar, the door swinging behind her as a flurry of snowflakes wafted in behind her.

Around the clock tower she went, her long legs and high boots crunching on the fresh, powdery snow. It was cold now, almost bitter but on she strode, like an ancient Celtic goddess bracing for war. If Marek ever doubted her and what she was about, then she was going to make him choke on his words.

Iskra walked further away from the centre of town, the tolling clock tower sounding faint. With her back to Marek, she lifted her pale hands into the air. With complicated but slow hand movements, the snow swirled around her, like a vacuum. The flakes seemed drawn to her, like a flock of starlings twisting and turning in the late summer sky. She drew them to her, rotating her hands carefully. The snow flakes became compacted as they pressed together, growing in size as she looked at Marek, the large snowball hovering.

"Works for snow. I'm working on fire," she said casually as she flicked her wrist and send the ball hurtling towards him. "I'm good with the elements," she said casually. "I'm best with fire. I'm working on a sort of flame thrower," she said serenely. "But I don't know how successful I'll be," she mused as she scratched her chin thoughtfully. It was ancient magic, tried and trusted and centuries old. She stopped the ball before it hit Marek and made it change direction with a jerk of her hand. Pulling her hand back, she sent it flying through the air like a catapult, the snow ball smacking against one of the brick walls with enough force that the bricks cracked and mortar went tumbling down. "Battle magic," she explained, sounding unruffled.

"I don't have any emotional wounds," he replied just as quickly, rebutting her assessment with a firm stance. He didn't know where she got the idea in the first place and why she had the gall to say that to him either. But then he countered her question with a statement just as vague as everything else she was telling him. "You know why I'm here." It was obvious to him. They had discussed an exchange of information, of dark magic artifacts, of knowledge. Something Marek didn't want to back down from, but was also willing to do what was needed to get it.

Her analysis of his as 'Mr Popular' wasn't far off in his opinion though so he simply shrugged and gave her an indulgent smirk. She at least got something right. Or at least something he agreed with. His heart line and the betrayal aspect was another thing altogether. "So gossip. That's your 'source'?" he scoffed, moving to draw his hand back. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but if Justyna was blabbing what they had done to her 'friends' he wasn't sure he could respond calmly.

Her words needled him. Not perfect. Unusual. He narrowed his gaze at her but pressed his lips together in a straight line, refusing to play into her game even though he didn't agree. He knew what he was here for even if she was questioning him earlier and he was determined not to ruin it. "Good to know," he said when she confirmed she was more than positive about her abilities. Not like he was going to base his opinion off himself off of a couple of lines on his hand. He just really wanted to know how much Justyna was telling people. Merlin. What was she thinking.

Right now? Marek's eyes widened infinitesimally, surprised she would offer to go now. Not that he wasn't going to take the opportunity though. There were just instants when he thought he had a hold on who or what Iskra was and then a moment later that comprehension vanished like smoke and confusion took its place once more. "Okay," he agreed easily as he grabbed his jacket quickly and tied his scarf tighter around his neck. She was already out the door without waiting for him and his bag bumped against his leg. He knew it was freezing out but the bite of the cold air on his cheeks still stung as they left the warmth of the little pub behind them.

He followed her around the clock tower, wondering all the while where exactly they were going and what exactly she had planned. They weren't exactly headed back up to the school even though there was no way they could get themselves out of trouble should they have been caught. Marek watched the outline of her as he followed her, his blue eyes bright against the white of the snow. His shoulders were tense against the wind and the cold, but when she stopped, he did the same. Snow lightly fell on his boots as he watched her raise her arms. He watched carefully, gaze narrowed as she raised her arms, surprised when the snow started swirling around her. She had control of the elements! Complex control, he observed, as she rotated her hands and created a snowball. Complex, corporeal, and specific.

Questions upon questions flew threw his mind and he stepped closer without thinking, wanting to see it more closely, wanting to share the same space as that kind of magic. 'How?" he asked, intrigue and curiosity in his tone and then a little bit of surprise as she sent the snowball flying toward him and then in another direction just as easily. "You can manipulate both fire and water?" Air too maybe depending on how the snow spell functioned. He was jealous. He was intrigued. He was hungry for more information. "Is it some kind of nonverbal spell? Or derived from elemental magic? How long did it take you to master the snow spell?" Battle magic. He didn't care what the price was. He'd pay it.

"Lucky you," Iskra was quick to reply. If anyone got through Durmstrang relatively unscathed, they deserved a medal. Her dark eyes flicked down to her equally dark nails, shining in the dim light. She wasn't offended by his words and tone. Most people didn't like her and she didn't count Marek as being any different.

"You'd be surprised," she told him, the corners of her lips curling up slightly. "The walls have ears," she said, her eyes overly bright. "People talk. Things get embellished sometimes," she added before she shrugged. "If it wasn't true, you wouldn't be so defensive," she added as she blinked at him. "Whether you believe me or not isn't any of my concern, Marek," she purred. "I just wanted to get to know you a little better."

Despite spending most of her time in the shadows, Iskra reckoned she was more extrovert than introvert. Sure, she fancied herself as a puppeteer, pulling strings of her peers backstage but she had to admit, having a set of eyes on her so intently was thrilling. She liked showing off. Reaching out her hands, she caught the snowball. The snow was almost as white as her skin as she rolled it between her palms, ignoring the searing pain as the cold bit down into her skin before she shrugged.

"Not exactly," she said with a wistful sigh. Had she had control over the elements, she'd be wreaking havoc almost daily. "It's ancient magic," she explained as she toyed with the large snowball that was melting fast in her fingers, dripping through them as she seemed unperturbed. "I can't conjure anything from nothing," she told Marek as she looked at him, sounding a little bit deflated and annoyed. "There needs to be the element present," she grumbled. If she could conjure fire, Yelena Romanova's robes would be aflame at every single class they shared.

"It's non-verbal," she clarified for him swiftly. "It's strange. You kind of make it…bigger," Iskra settled on, for lack of a better word. "You exaggerate it. Pump it up," she told Marek, her eyes focusing on the snow that swirled around her, landing on her nose and sooty eyelashes. "A flake becomes a ball and a flicker becomes a flame," she continued. "It feeds off you," she turned to watch him, seeing if he was uncomfortable. "It feeds off how you're feeling. Anger is the best, obviously," she said, as though explaining it to a toddler patiently. "I'm convinced it feeds off adrenaline but I've yet to find any proof."

"Fundamentally, it's Elemental magic of sorts. I'm not linked to any element, I'm not that fortunate," she said as she wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Each element has words attached. For example, water is hor. What I've been doing is reciting the word before commencing the spell. I feel like it connects us somewhat. It's connected to you."

How long did it take to master? "A few months," Iskra answered vaguely. While they were helping one another out, she and Marek weren't friends. For all she knew, he could trot off to the Headmistress and throw her under the bus.

Iskra walked forward to stand in front of Marek, her head tilted up to look at him. "I think it's all emotional," she said with a smile. "The angrier I am, the bigger bang I make. Not that I suggest it might work that way for you," she added, covering her tracks. "Eyes closed, hands out," she instructed him, gently touching the insides of his wrists as she tried to cajole him. "Just take a breath, feel the snow on your skin," she told him, her voice soft and melodic, almost like a meditation. "Focus. I want you to close your eyes and imagine you absorbing the snow," she told him, still standing close enough to be able to feel the heat clinging to his coat.

"Bring it in," the Klyk Vampira student told him clearly. "Visualise what you want to do but start small. There's no point trying to create an avalanche. Try just trying to move the flakes around you, drawing them in, pulling them close." As she spoke, she placed her two forefingers against Marek's wrist, gently pressing in the groove in line with his forefinger, near his veins to keep him grounded. "If that fails, we might have to use your blood," Iskra replied in a sing-song voice.

He was so focused on what she was saying as she explained that he nearly felt his spine crack with how tense he was. Marek wanted to know everything, right now, all of it. He was a sponge, waiting to soak up any information was she willing to give him. She was a mystery, a vagueness that he couldn't define, but right here, right now, he knew exactly what she was and exactly what he wanted from her.

Non-verbal. Based in elementalism, but not the same kind of magic. His hopes were raised for a fraction of a second before she answered the question in his mind without him having to say the words. She wasn't gifted that way and he was sure the disappointment could be seen in his eyes, but that didn't mean he was any less interested. Probably the opposite of that in fact. He was more interested because she knew of this magic without having the actual innate skills. She was more skilled in this magic than he was and he hadn't even known where to start before she had met him tonight under the clock tower.

"How did you learn of this?" he asked her, wanting to know all of her secrets. Were there books that she had that he needed to learn about it? Was there some mysterious wizard in Belushya Guba giving her private lessons in exchange for who knew what? It was channeled by emotion and the student in Marek wasn't surprised by that. His innate pool of magic was fueled by focus and intent, but also by emotion. It made sense that this kind of magic was no different. "Only a few months?" he asked, his brows perking in surprise. He was impressed and wanted the knowledge with a deep yearning that was burning even brighter now.

The Krov watched her intently as she came to stand right in front of him and he tilted his eyes down to look at her. He blinked a few times before pulling his gloves off and carefully putting them into his jacket pocket. Her fingertips were at his wrist, touching the inside of his wrist right at the heartbeat. Her touch was like a shock of coolness and yet the fact that she was here, reaching out to him, literally and figuratively, warmed him from the inside out. With one last look at her, Marek let his eyes flutter to a close, his long dark lashes casting shadows over his smooth skin, his hands held out serenely in front of him.

He took a deep breath and tried to follow her instructions. His eyes flew open for a second as she mentioned using his blood. Blood magic? The idea excited him, but he tried to focus on the task at hand. He closed his eyes once more. A crease formed in his brow as he concentrated on the snowy whiteness around him. Marek tried to focus on the element, the soft piles of it crunching silently beneath his boots. The way the wind sent whispers of snowflakes across his nose and cheeks. The crisp coolness of the snow on the air. He tried to visualize the iciness of what it would feel like in his palm, stinging with its frozen bite and melting from the warmth of his hand at the same time.

Marek tried to start small as she said. He made a picture in his mind of a small pile of snowflakes in the palm of his hand. Nothing overzealous. Nothing avalanche size. He still felt her fingertips at his wrist and the feel of her touch kept him focused on the goal. What felt like hours later, but was probably only minutes, he cracked an eye open and let out a frustrated sigh. There was nothing in his palm, not even one itty bitty snowflake.

Iskra shrugged vaguely. How was she supposed to be all mysterious if he kept asking her questions? "Contraband books," she told him honestly as she absently studied her black stiletto nails. "Unlike yourself, I have a lot of time on my hands." Marek was one of those silly popular boys. The ones who were always surrounded by squawking girls and immature boys. While he was busy attempting to climb the social ladder, Iskra was busy figuring out ways to push his classmates off the top step.

To say that she was unpopular was an understatement. She'd been labelled an outsider the first moment she's stepped into the school at eleven years old and so, she'd embraced it. She wandered around in black and dark lipstick with her big jet black eyes and raven hair. She moved silently, in an ethereal, unnerving manner. She rather liked seeing the look of fear in people's eyes as she watched them.

The petite girl tilted her head curiously. Now with Marek's eyes closed, she took her time to watch him, properly this time. She pressed her thumb to his pulse, counting to fifteen and then multiplying it by four to calculate the beats per minute. He was calm so at least he listened. He was a handsome boy, if not a little too clean cut for her. She also didn't care much for his choice of friends which was why she hadn't made much of an effort.

"Nevermind," Iskra said gently as she let his wrist go but made no effort to get out of his personal space. "Thinking of Yelena Romanova usually works for me," she said casually. She wasn't sure why she didn't like the redheaded girl. Maybe it was her vapid expression or her whiny, droning voice. Who knew. But it made her a better caster if she had something to focus on. It probably stemmed from the fact that Dimitri spent more time with Yelena than he did with her and as a child, Iskra was never taught to share.

Wordlessly, she handed over her book. It was old and heavy, the margins filled with her lopsided scribble. "You can borrow it," she told Marek as she looked up at the darkening sky, frowning thoughtfully. Dropping her eyes, she blinked at him swiftly. "But not everyone has the gift. See you later." With that, she raised her left hand and clinked her fingers, the result was a small amount of snow flakes landing in his dark hair. With a lingering smile, she turned on her heel and strode off, the ends of her long back coat flicking out behind her as her heels echoed across the empty courtyard. She was pretty certain he'd lose sleep over this.

[c'est fini!]

He nodded as he told him her source of information. Marek wasn't a stranger to that considering he, Meike, and Mihaela had been doing spells and experiments with another banned book they had found earlier this term. There was something to be said about the Durmstrang students who were dedicated to a whole education, not just bits and pieces. Marek knew this girl was someone he wanted to keep close. For obvious reason. She was a mystery and a riddle, but damn did he want to get to know her mind more.

As his frustration rolled through him, he wondered if she would try it again with him. He wanted to. He wanted to succeed, to get it done, to have some small achievement in this new form of magic. She was so skillful with it and he was envious. Her soft voice floated over the cold air to him, their bodies mere inches away, and he looked down into her eyes, smirking as she said the last. "Not a fan of Lena then?" he asked, amused at the idea. He knew Klyks could be.. antagonistic, but then again so could he given the right situation.

Without a word, she gave him her book and his brows flew upward in surprise as he accepted it. He was about to ask what she wanted in return for it. Marek knew that Iskra wasn't a girl to give anything for free, but he wasn't exactly going to turn it down either. He tucked it securely under his arm. He frowned, refusing to believe he didn't have the 'gift' as she had implied for some people. Marek refused to be one of those people, his whole being was dedicated to not being one of 'those people'. "Wait, you're leaving?" he asked in surprise. "But we just got started."

It didn't matter what he had to say though. She was already walking away from him, the wind catching her coat. He watched her walk away for a few moments and then glanced down at the book in his hands, his eyes running over the spine with curiosity. He wasn't sure he had accomplished all that much today, but he knew he had taken at least a step in the right direction.

((out))